


grin and bear it

by lunadiane



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Alpha Keith (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Altean Lance (Voltron), Altean Princess Lance, Aphrodisiacs, Arranged Marriage, Breeding, Druids, Dubious Consent, F/M, Female Lance (Voltron), First Meetings, Forced Orgasm, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galran Prince Keith (Voltron), Knotting, Overstimulation, Pre-Relationship, Prince Keith (Voltron), Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Sex between strangers, Vaginal Sex, a little somnophilia, consummation, ruts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-22 05:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunadiane/pseuds/lunadiane
Summary: In Altean-Galra romances, the trope of the ‘bestial consummation’ is a common one, and as Lance understands it, the Galra have ‘ruts’ of irresistible urges to breed, entering into a primal state where nothing, save from death itself,  will stop them from ravishing their lovers for up to an entire quintent.To end the war between Altea and Daibazaal, Lance, Second Princess of Altea, is arranged to marry Second Prince Keithek of Daibazaal, a complete stranger who will thoroughly breed her during their wedding night.





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> the really explicit stuff only happens in the second chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Movement - Week  
> Quintent - Day  
> Varga - Hour

 

A few movements before her eighteenth birthday, Lance is informed of her betrothal to Prince Keith of Daibazaal, Second Prince of the Galra Empire and Son of Emperor Zarkon and Empress Honerva.

 

 

 

Lance’s heels echo as she walks down a hallway of the Royal Castleship, the swish of her long skirts almost inaudible. Her shadow elongates along the carpeted floor like river willows in a hot, balmy afternoon. Father has summoned her and the only place she will find him nowadays is in the War Room. Apart from the cleaning droids performing their duties, the hallway itself is littered with military personnel - lieutenants and commanders discussing military strategies, who bow to their Princess as she passes.

 

Tall, floor-to-ceiling glass walls curve up around her, and against a backdrop of the universe’s stars, blazing explosions tinge her orange as the battle against Daibazaal rages on. Just beyond Altea’s atmosphere,they have their best fighters and airships in the zero-gravity of space to counter Galran forces, fighting almost every varga of a quintent. Each explosion is damage dealt to military infrastructure, be it Altean or Galran, or a fighter going up in flames. Lance prays that they aren’t manned Altean fighters, but the fact remains that her citizens are dying even as she draws breath.

 

When she enters the War Room, the first thing she notices is its distinct emptiness. Ever since the conflict began, this room has never been empty, saturated with activity, her father meeting with his generals and overseeing attack plans. Her mother and father are seated, both looking at her kindly as her mother waves her over. Lance walks over and takes a seat directly opposite them.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Mother has a smile on her face, but there’s a sadness to her eyes that is immediately prominent. “We think that  - we have found a peaceful solution to the war.” Her voice is calm and controlled, her tone only making her brief pause sound regal and calculated.

 

“That’s amazing news!” Lance perks up, intrigued. “Am I to help?”

 

“Yes.” Father says, “But this is not going to be an easy feat for you, my daughter.”

 

“We have decided that, between the royal families of Altea and Daibazaal, the best solution would be marriage.”

 

Lance stills. To the untrained eye, nothing has happened, but all the subtle motions of her body have stopped, the slight lean forward halted, her entire body stiffening slightly.

 

“I am to marry a Galran Prince.” She concludes.

 

“Indeed.” Her father says, and both at the very least look conflicted and guilty about it.

 

She takes a deep breath. This is the ideal diplomatic solution. War is an atrocity of hatred and destruction, so its polar opposite must suffice to end it - love, creation and union, the certainty of heirs. The entrusting of a royal into the folds of another family, to show vulnerability is especially effective between two feuding factions.

 

Lance holds on to a calm expression, flashing a good-natured smile. “We’re resorting to the classics, I see.”

 

Her thoughts have opened like a floral tea set, each section unfolding like petals. Allura, as the firstborn, is the Heir to Altea, trained to rule from their beloved home planet and protect their people. Any spouse of hers, undeniably a political one, would have to live out their lives on Altea by her side while she rules as Queen. She is too valued a player to be married _off_ to a different planet.

 

Lance, however, is different. She is the second Princess - an excellent asset (an excellent _tool_ ) for forging diplomatic alliances. It isn’t even as if the idea is completely foreign to her. History and Literature are filled with arranged marriages as instruments of peace and stability, as catalysts of drama and heartbreak.

 

She never wanted to be a tragic heroine, bound to a person she didn’t love. But her reality is to be a diplomat, as all Altean royalty are, a life of mediating what is given to her and finding the best in it.

 

Father and Mother were arranged to marry, and they found love. It is not impossible for her.

 

(It is all about perspective.)

 

First and foremost, as Princess of Altea, she has a duty to her people and her planet. Her life is dedicated to serving and furthering the interests of her people.

 

Finally, she offers a resigned nod, smile still in place. “Has the Galran Royal Family agreed to this proposal?”

 

“No, not yet,” Her mother clarifies, and Lance stamps down the hope that flares up in her chest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A large part of diplomacy is tacitly ignoring, or omitting, for the time being, the less desirable parts of alien cultures.

 

To put it plainly, Lance would call that ‘grinning and bearing it’.

 

She smiles her widest smile when the betrothal was accepted, because it would end the war and bring peace to her people.

 

In Altean-Galra romances, the trope of the ‘bestial consummation’ is a common one, and Lance had giggled and indulged in many a novel or soap opera with the same formulaic conventions. There was the spirited Altean protagonist and their stoic, passionate Galran love interest, exciting battles for love between rivals as was the Galra way, and when they were finally together, their love was expressed carnally in pages and pages of salacious writing.

 

The Galra have ‘ruts’ of irresistible urges to breed, entering into a primal state where nothing, save from death itself, will stop them from ravishing their lovers for up to an entire quintent.

 

Part of the appeal was of course, the fact that the Galra were definitely bigger. Apart from explicit, smutty descriptions, the metaphors to insinuate this fact were countless - squeezing into a tunic too tight for you, cramming too many jewels into a single box, a large jug of nunvil emptied into a small goblet even though it couldn’t hold any more.

 

It sends a chill down her spine.

 

She had been told that the royal princes were not considered conventionally attractive by Galra standards. Luckily for her, Empress Honerva's Altean blood shines through them.

 

Despite his gold sclera, purple skin, visible fanged teeth and prominent furred ears, Prince Keithek’s hologram is handsome and rakish, dark hair framing his face, chin sharp and cheekbones high while his determined, fiery gaze stare into her own. Lance resizes the hologram to encompass his entire form, and rakes her eyes appreciatively over his lean, muscled body, his breastplate making his shoulders look even broaded, armour showing his physique off to the best advantage. Her husband is good-looking, at least.

 

“You will prepare yourself for His Highness Keith during your consummation.” The Druid, projected as a communication hologram in her quarters, speaks. Their voice, electronic, sounds neither male nor female. They are faceless, beak-shaped mask reminding her of a ravenous predator bird and painted yellow eyes (at least, Lance thinks they are painted) betraying no emotion whatsoever.

 

“Stretching will be necessary for his girth and length, for your Altean physiology cannot naturally accommodate.” The druid intones. “Tools and lubrication will be sent over, Your Highness.”

 

All of this honestly seems much more ominous than needed for a marriage alliance, especially for talk of their coupling. “That’s alright, I can manage.” Lance assures them, before mustering cheer into her voice, leaning forward with a teasing smile, “But, more importantly, what does the Prince like? What does he enjoy in his lovers?”

 

She tries not to think about having to meet these standards as she holds her grin, or the many imagined ways her _bestial consummation_ could go wrong. The Druid tilts their head (or was it just their mask?) in an amused - or perhaps mocking way, and merely says “Dress in light clothing when the time comes, Princess Allanor. It should be easily removable.”

 

“You can call me Lance.” Lance says out of habit, but the transmission cuts off before she’s finished.

 

Alright, so she doesn’t have much information to work with. As the female, however, the night is supposed to proceed without much initiative on her part.

 

They had sent her a toy for her preparations, and Lance suppresses a shiver upon taking out the dildo - thicker than her upper arm, nearly as long, and ribbed with a spear-like tip.

 

Lance had prayed that this was not indeed a replica of Prince Keithek’s anatomy, because he’ll split her apart.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Time passes much too quickly for Lance’s liking.

 

She is to be a Consort in the Galran court, and so the Galra have refused any and all of Altea’s attempts to contribute to a wedding. Lance will be received in Daibazaal, where she will be married to Prince Keithek in a Galran wedding ceremony, and remain for the traditional two movements expected by a new Consort according to their rules.

 

“It won’t be forever.” Her mother had consoled her, “We shall see you again after those two movements.”

 

Father, Mother, Allura and their loyal retainer Coran had no end to the embraces and kisses they had for her, and she couldn’t get enough of them.

 

The entirety of her belongings are to be sent over to her new planet, and the Galran spacecraft to transport her is bringing only the essentials, the rest to come in a cargo ship in the future.

 

As they left Altea’s atmosphere, the gentle light of the setting sun fading into darkness, the only light left in the spacecraft  is the purple glare the Galra prefer for their sensitive eyes. Each sharp point, angular metal frieze and massive rib of the craft demands attention with their harsh neon outlines.

 

Seated, Lance watches Altean skies disappearing into the inky black of the cosmos, the golds and pinks blurring together with the tears in her eyes. Ironic, was it not, how she only realized the beauty of her home planet’s evening now that she had to leave it?

 

In the dimness, Lance sags with an exhale. Beneath the thick coat she is wearing, a thin, translucent slip is all she has on, ending halfway on her thighs. There was no one - save the Galran Druid - to see her inelegance in this private moment.

 

With identical modulated voices, this Druid could very well be exactly the same one who spoke to her as a hologram. The click of a metallic shoe alerts her to the Druid taking a step forward.

 

“Your Highness Princess Allanor.”

 

“Lance is alright.” She mumbles on autopilot.

 

“Your Highness Princess Allanor.” The Druid repeats. “I request to confirm that you have been adequately prepared for Prince Keithek. Would you prefer an inspection where you sit, or the bed provided?”

 

Lance jerks around, a deep flush erupting on her cheeks as she stares at the faceless Druid. “What?!” She blurts out, years of training the only thing keeping her coherent.

 

“I request to perform an inspection.” The Druid repeats, their voice devoid of a trace of mortification Lance feels. “Would you prefer to sit, or to lie on the bed?”

 

They know they don’t need to spell it out for her, but embarrassment roots her to her chair. “I would...prefer not to...undergo this.” She forces out, clutching the thick material of her coat.

 

“I recommend the inspection, Your Highness.” The Druid intones. It’s exactly like talking to an emotionless serving droid. “Your Altean physiology does not naturally accommodate a Galran consummation. Lack of adequate preparation will most certainly lead to tearing in the-”

 

“Alright!” Lance stands up, spooked. “...alright. Fine.” She drapes her coat on her seat and trudges toward the bed, lying down on her stomach. She doesn’t want to see their ominous yellow eyes while being touched so intimately. “I trust you know how to proceed.” She says muffled words into the soft sheets.

 

Metal clicks reach her ears, and stops where the Druid stands above her. Lance feels the skirt of her slip being lifted up her thighs, above her buttocks, and she squeezes her eyes shut.

 

“Please spread your legs, your Highness.”

 

Lance silently complies.

Cold. Her face burns at the touch on the skin around her folds. The finger traces around her skin bulging and stretched around the plug inside her, wet from lube and her own slick and keeping her loose and wet for the night ahead.

 

She wasn’t born yesterday. Lance knew entirely what her wedding night entailed, and had prepared appropriately in her quarters (for vargas!) before the journey to Daibazaal.

 

She jolts when that same finger - _two_ fingers - slide inside, as cold as ice, alongside the girthy plug already inside her, pushing against her walls. She tries not to squirm, but it’s difficult with something as unwanted as this forced inside her.

 

No procedure, no medical appointment, has ever felt this invasive.

 

Finally, the fingers withdraw, and Lance can breathe again, opening her eyes.

 

“It should be adequate.” The Druid states.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing Alternate Universe versions of characters is always interesting as they have to be similar to their canon counterparts yet different due to coming from completely different universes and backgrounds. Lance is always interesting to write for me.
> 
>  
> 
> Coming up - Chapter 2: During


	2. During

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, here's my present to all of you: Lance getting railed hard
> 
> contains non-consensual elements, be warned.
> 
> Quintent - Day  
> Varga - Hour

Daibazaal’s sky is a deep, dusty red, an impossible shade on Altea. Lance’s heels click down the ramp of the spacecraft onto the metal ground, led to a path into the Imperial Palace formed by two lines of black-and-purple Galra sentries.

 

An icy breeze slices across her legs, clad only in thin stockings, and Lance shivers. She pulls her thick coat closer to herself, a beacon of white and cerulean among the dark colours of her husband-to-be’s planet. Glancing up, she must take a step back to witness the entirety of the Palace’s curving walls looming above her, to see its jagged tops like fangs piercing the blood sky.

 

She takes a deep breath and steps forward, suppressing a wince as the toy inside her squelches against her slick walls. The Druid glides soundlessly beside her as she walks and a pair of sentries break from the lines to follow behind, marching perfectly in step behind her.

 

The Western Entrance, tall enough to house an entire Altean residence complex, grows larger and larger as she approaches, its maw opening up to swallow her whole. As the walls encase her, the Druid suddenly makes a sharp left, finally bringing Lance inside the building proper.

 

The Palace is as dark as the spacecraft, a dim magenta illuminating the metallic interior. Lance walks through a dizzying labyrinth of criss-crossing hallways and elevators, each hallway identical to the last until the Druid finally stops at a door twice Lance’s height. The sentries take up position at each side of the door.

 

“We have arrived at Prince Keithek’s quarters.” The Druid announces monotonously, and the door slides open to let them enter.

 

The first thing Lance sees is an array of weapons and guns hung on the wall and a miniature training gymnasium on the opposite wall with padded, shock-absorbent mats. Further into the room is a vast bed in the centre, a door leading elsewhere on the left, and a desktop workstation on the right. Another three Druids, clones of the one already following, await her.

 

This must be how royal consummations are conducted, Lance reasons, breathing deeply. The detail given to her about the situation did mention that servants would be present.

 

Cold fingers brush over her neck and Lance feels her coat being lifted from her shoulders. The air is dry and still chilly on her bare skin, now that all she has is her slip and stockings. “Sit.” The middle of the three Druids instructs, as they move aside to reveal the bed.      

 

As she walks closer to the bed, she can make out  the curtains over the bed as being red, thanks to the currents of purple light encircling the entire room. Apart from that, however, there is no hint of her husband-to-be’s personality as being anything different from a typical violent Galra.

 

As a Prince, it would be entirely expected for him to embody their militaristic, aggressive values.

 

Seated, Lance looks up at the four of them staring at her. “When will the Prince be present?” She asks, both hands held together in her lap, and one of them replies, “after you are deemed ready.”

 

 _Another inspection?_ Lance thinks in dismay, as she fights to remain neutral. “An inspection was already made on the journey here, I’m sure it won’t be necessary-”

 

“You are not a galra omega, Your Highness.” One quirks their head sideways in what must be a condescending manner. “You do not have the natural flexibility to take an alpha’s knot. His Highness will stretch you out, and we are present to ensure he does not do much harm.”

 

“Nonetheless, you may bid us leave if you so please.”

 

Heartrate speeding up, Lance swallows. “N-No, I see. Thank you for your assistance, I will be relying on your expertise.” She murmurs, even though the words feel like sand on her tongue.

 

“Very well. Please lie back.”

 

Lance complies and shuts her eyes as heat begins to creep into her cheeks. Her silver hair pools around her shoulders, tickling her neck. She can’t help but think of Altea, how wedding nights would be private, of medical professionals prioritizing the patient’s comfort above everything else - but, she thought miserably, this is the world in which she is to live in.

 

Cold, bony fingers once again latch onto her thighs and push them wider, a hand seizing the toy inside her to pull it back and thrust back in. Lance jerks and cries out, eyes opening for her vision to be filled with yellow eyes as the Druids crowd around her, hands holding her shoulders down. Even more fingers roam over her flesh, stroking along her labia and encircling her folds, and Lance gasps when one brushes over her clit.

 

Another flick.

 

Another.

 

Cold fingertips press against her clit, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves, and Lance bites down on her lip to stop her noises from escaping. It’s even more sensitive compared to the drag of the toy along her walls as the Druids decide to play with it again, a whimpered “Nnnh-!” erupting from her lips when they pull the dildo out and plunge it back inside her in rapid thrusts.  

 

It’s cold and Lance hates it, her cunt bare to the air for these Druids to touch her as if she were a common prostitute, rather than the Princess of Altea. She hates that she can never have an intimate wedding night with someone she loves, after a vibrant and heartfelt Altean wedding, instead of being treated like an animal to be bred. At this very moment, however, she hates how pleasure is slowly curling in her core, making her toes twitch the more the Druids fondle her between her legs, making her cunt ever wetter.

 

(But as a Princess, she is merely royal stock to be sold and bartered for the sake of millions.)

 

Lance turns her head to the side, eyes shut, fighting back her moans as pleasure slowly starts to build in her loins. Surely they can’t be - they wouldn’t-

 

“Aah!!” She cries out, her body, held down, convulsing, thighs shaking as her climax rips through her like a stab to the gut. Four pairs of yellow eyes stare impassively at her, and Lance’s face crumples in mortification. They’ve spread her bare like a specimen nailed down for study, all seeing her at her most intimate, most vulnerable, their digits inside her, seen her at the point of orgasm. She itches to curl up and hide in shame, but their grip keeps her motionless.  

 

“He shouldn’t do much damage now.”

 

She stills in panic, eyes wide.

 

“Drink this.” A glass vial is pressed against her lips, and Lance unconsciously opens them for a thick, pungent liquid pour into her mouth. She instinctively swallows some before she chokes, coughing, the liquid trickling down her jaw and staining the sheets beneath. Warmth immediately blooms from her chest down to her abdomen, her cunt suddenly throbbing in response as slick oozes from her folds. An aphrodisiac-?

 

“Bring him in.”

 

If this is how they _prepare_ her, how bad will it be?

 

The door to her right opens with an ominous hiss, and a low growl fills her ears. She’s still held down as the dildo is pulled from her wet cunt, leaving her open and loose, Lance muffling a moan as it slides against her walls.

 

Turning to the side, the violet pillar of the Druid blocks part of him, but she finally catches sight of the Prince.

 

The black melts from his figure as he lunges forward, the purple light of the room illuminating his corded muscles and catching on his vivid golden eyes. His wrists, pinned to his sides, are gripped in shackles ablaze in lines of luminous energy, and he thrashes violently against the lines of bondage controlled by the Druid. His dark hair is a wild mane, canine ears rigid, nose furiously sniffing the air before he catches sight of her (or rather, some _scent_ of her) and snarls, showing his sharp fangs. His feet dig into the floor, pushing him forward, pushing him towards her.

 

Completely naked, every inch of him is a light purple except a pair of symmetrical scars on his face, and his thick, hard cock standing erect against his navel, straining an angry red with the ribs darkening into crimson. It swings with each movement, stabbing the air as he bucks his hips.

 

Fear starts to pool in her chest, oily and icy. The replica was _accurate._

 

“Prince Keithek…?” Lance murmurs, her voice high and fearful, but she is only greeted with an unintelligible growl, his feral golden gaze glinting in the dim light as he fixes on her.

 

She now understands why it is called a _bestial_ consummation.

 

With wide eyes, she watches him stumble forward in tandem with his handler gliding forward ever so slowly.   

 

The energy keeping him in place fizzles out, and he pounces.

 

“Wait - STOP!” Lance screams and flinches. His claws shred through her slip, exposing her breasts before pinning her shivering shoulders down, her blue eyes cracking open in terror to meet his own, clouded over like a beast in rut, the Prince snapping and snarling. He’s massive, broad shoulders easily enveloping her thinner form. A drop of saliva slips from his bared fangs upon her cheek, and he dips his head into her neck, nuzzling and inhaling her scent with a low purr, before pushing his tongue into her mouth, smearing the aphrodisiac all over her mouth as he laps it up from her lips. 

 

His cock brushes over her bare navel, and Lance peers down to find his rutting hips at a stop bare inches before hers, the Prince grunting in frustration. A wetness traces over her neck before a row of his fangs sink into her flesh. She gasps as he marks her.

 

Fingers are once again at her cunt, spreading her folds, and Lance only realizes when she feels the hard tip nudge her hole. Keithek snarls in victory as he finds purchase, Lance going rigid as his member slides inside.

 

“N-nno-” Her voice is small, she can’t move, can’t kick, legs jerking as the hands bind her to the bed to be a sheath for his cock. It’s too big, too long, Lance squeezes her eyes shut, enduring it with a cry punched out of her as he spears her to the hilt. Her walls are blistering, her fingers curling into claws and pulling against her restraints - something must have torn-

 

But all she can feel is the drag of his cock against her walls as he pulls out of her before slamming back in. The ribs on his cock catch on her walls, only allowing him to pull out an inch of his length, and Lance gasps as Keithek starts to rut hard into her, her cunt stretched open as he jerks his hips rapidly, short and deep, inside her.

 

“Ahh - ahhh- s-slow down - please-” Lance whimpers, it’s too much, his weight pinning her hips down, but the hold on her ankles has lifted, and Lance finds herself spreading her legs to take him in, bracing the flesh of his crotch against her inner thighs. “Be g-gentle-!” She pleads, but he can’t hear a word she says. The slap of flesh against flesh fills her ears, her pussy squelching obscenely around his dick, and her legs - her entire body - rocks back and forth at his rhythm. Lance feels the sheets slip against her skin as she stares, petrified, into the primal, violent joy in his dilated pupils.

 

She presses herself against the bed as much as possible, wishing the sheets would swallow her whole and spare her this agony. Alas, all she could do was let her body be played like a puppet, squirming and jerking around his cock.

 

“Nnnh - Mmmm! Aaanh-” Lance moaned.  Along with the hiss of pain, that familiar, traitorous heat is building in her loins once again as he pounds her into the bed, rubbing her walls raw.

 

She’s burning, hot all over despite the cold air of the room, her cunt split open on his length as he slams deep into her with a finality. Lance yelps out in panic - “Haaah-!” as she feels the base of his cock expand - he has a knot, to keep the seed in, to _breed_ her - her rim bulging, as he throws his head back and sprays warm cum inside her with a feral whine.

 

Chest heaving, Lance prays that it’s the end of it. She didn’t orgasm, but that’s a small price to pay if her ordeal is to be over, before Keithek rips his knot from her cunt and she jerks upward with a scream, the onslaught beginning once again as he pierces her with a grunt. The hands withdraw, leaving her free to clutch at Keithek’s arms, but the Druids vanish with an audible sound.

 

“N-No! Wait! Come back!” Lance begs. She’s now alone at his mercy. Her hand drifts over to her abdomen and she pales to feel a long, firm bump, a raised strip where his huge cock is stuffed into her. With panic, she remembers how galra ruts go on for vargas, the longest over a quintent, before he jabs her cervix and seizes her attention once again. He releases her shoulders, rutting into her just as hard and fast as before, and Lance lets out a squeal as her climax thunders through her, leaving her shuddering and shaking around his girth as his cum dribbles from her cunt.

 

He fucks her through her orgasm, each wave of pleasure spiking as he grinds against her sensitive walls. “Please - s-stop - too much-” Lance pants, her gaze blurring over with tears with how intense everything feels, but his golden eyes flick to hers with a conscious, malicious glint, the haze of the rut having cleared from his eyes after the initial seeding, his teeth bared in a smirk.

 

“ _Mine_.” Keithek purrs, the first word she’s ever heard him say to her, reveling at the string of moans she makes with each thrust - “Aaah - nngh - hhhnn - hyaaa-! Aahh - ” She clamps her hand over her mouth, trying to muffle her embarrassing sounds, but he tears it away and pins it above her head, thrusting deep to roll his hips in a way that makes Lance tremble, crying out in pleasure as her other hand beats against the sheets helplessly.

 

She squirms as his claw finds her clit and starts to play with it, rolling quick, sharp circles, and Lance cums again, her back arching as she gushes around his knot. "S-Stop- pleaaaase-” The Altean Princess begs, convulsing uncontrollably as if shocked with electric. “P-Please - your highness - I know you can-”

 

“Not yet.” He hisses, toying with her breasts before grabbing her hips to pull her even deeper on his cock. She tries to pull away, to crawl away from him, desperate for a reprieve. 

 

Her own mortifying moans, Keithek’s grunts and the squelch of his cock fucking her fills her ears together with the pounding of her heart. His gaze and grin are predatory, having her right where he wants her, purple filling her vision, from the walls to his lean form between her legs, his hips bucking and rolling as he pistons into her.

 

He grinds against  _that_ spot and Lance wails as sensation bursts inside her core, making her eyelids flutter as she rides the wave of pleasure, her thighs shaking. She feels the vibrations of Keithek's smug chuckle, but is soon breathless at his relentless assault on her sweet spot, hitting it over and over again until another orgasm crashes into her, her eyes rolling back into her head. 

 

He knots her again, and Lance bites down an aborted wince, squeezing her eyes shut as she feels it swell and lock inside her, cum gushing into her cunt. He pulls her up into his lap and Lance has to grip his shoulders, Keithek maneuvering her like a toy with his claws clamped on her thighs and hips, lifting her like she weighs nothing to grind his knot against her walls. Yet it still isn't enough for him, the pads of his fingers finding her clit to press and play with it once again. "Nnnh - S-Stop doing that!" Lance squeals, one hand trying to pull his claw off, but she can't move him, her limbs slackening as the muscles in her core tighten in pleasure  _again._

 

"Grrgh-" Lance groans, nearly a gurgle, when another orgasm tears through her. She lies limply on him, body quaking from the aftershocks, one of his large claws supporting her back as he ruts into her. It feels like vargas have passed. How long will this last? How long must she stay here to be a toy for the Galra Prince? 

 

She can’t feel her thighs, the sensations wrenched from her core so intense they are almost painful. "Please - I can't anymore-" she whispers into his ear, but her pleas, if heard, are unheeded. 

 

Her desperate cries echo through his room, and Lance can’t remember when, but only remembers several bone-shattering orgasms, being filled again and again with his cum before she passes out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Her body is electric. It’s liquid, it’s molten, it’s the flames of a star, a single touch anywhere and pleasure erupts through her like a solar flare racing to her toes, to the tips of the hair on her scalp._

 

_“Please - Stop - Enough-!” She screams into the void, but nothing answers, nothing stops, absently she registers her breasts bouncing, her limp body continuing to rock on a white-hot current of sensation throbbing between her legs, her breath broken into pants. Pain inextricably locked with pleasure - It hurts - it's too much. Sheets bunch around her limbs and between her grasping fingers, it never ends, a wound on her neck pulsing as large claws wrap around._

 

The first thing she sees is the high, sloping ceiling, purple tinged in a red dawn. It’s nothing like the pale sunrises of Altea, and clarity strikes her - she is no longer home.

 

Something presses against her nose and her mouth, heaviness weighing her down, and she looks around to find an unconscious body  - A _Galra_ \-  Prince Keithek  - Her _husband_ \- draped on her. She can’t move. Her legs are spread, and she can still feel the full length and girth of his cock inside her, stretching her cunt open.

 

For once, her silent thoughts are read, and she feels him being lifted off her. Lance whimpers as his cock pulls out of her with a _pop_ , his knot long flagged, cum and juices dripping from her gaping, abused pussy. Her slip and stockings are in shreds and she sits up to curl into a ball, pulling her legs to her chest as close as possible. She regrets it immediately when her cunt aches, the loose folds exposing more than she’d ever wanted to the cold air.

 

The sheets are soaked with her slick and his seed, as are her thighs. Lance tries not to think about them.  

 

A Druid drags her husband out of the room, another is waiting for her and with a greeting. “Good Morning, Your Highness Princess Allanor.”

 

“Good morning-” Lance mumbles, but is interrupted. “You must be prepared for the wedding today. I request you follow me.”

 

Her muscles scream in protest when Lance tries to walk, knees buckling upon impact with the floor and sending her down face-first. Lance throws her hands up before collision, leaving her on all fours, forced to lift her head in humiliation. “I...I can’t walk, could you-”

 

The Druid says nothing, but gently picks her up into a bridal carry, the back of her knees resting on the crook of their elbow. The other room is a bathing chamber, an enticing tub in the middle filled with steaming hot water that relieves the soreness in all her muscles. Lance's moans in relief as she’s lowered in echo throughout the chamber. The Druid busies themself with pouring scented soaps and oils into the water, before taking a washcloth to her skin.

 

She will be married before the quintent is over.

 


End file.
